Ladies and Pocket Pistols

It’s a common mistake, especially for city slickers or those raised on a steady diet of Hollywood, to assume the average woman of the 19th century was wholly dependent on her husband—or his revolver—for protection. But if you dig around the trunks in enough attics here in the Willamette Valley, you’ll find otherwise. Ladies of refinement, grit, and practical sensibility often kept a small pistol within reach, tucked into a reticule, apron pocket, or bedside drawer.

Now, we’re not talking cavalry pieces here. No Colt Peacemakers riding side saddle. What you’ll find instead are tidy little revolvers—nickel-plated, pearl-handled, hammerless contraptions no bigger than a folded handkerchief. A few notable examples have turned up around these parts: the Smith & Wesson Safety Hammerless in .32 or .38 S&W, the elegant Iver Johnson Safety Automatic, and even a few dainty Deringers, single-shot derringers with barely an inch of rifling, often carried more for peace of mind than stopping power.

But don't be fooled by their size. Even the modest .22 or .32 Short could make an impression—especially when the nearest lawman was a two-day ride away and a burglar might be more afraid of the sound than the slug. In fact, some of these pistols were so easily concealed that I’m convinced many husbands never even knew their wives owned one. I’ve seen more than one widow’s trunk hold a “mysterious little surprise” when the estate was being inventoried.

Whether in a purse, tucked in a sewing kit, or hidden in a false-bottom drawer, these lady’s pistols were practical tools in uncertain times. They weren’t designed to win duels or fend off bank robbers. They were designed to give their owners a sense of control, of independence—and I reckon they did just that.

Though small revolvers are easy to overlook today, they were lifelines to countless Americans navigating the dangers of early urban and industrial life. Whether tucked into a store clerk’s apron, resting behind a bartender’s till, or stuffed discreetly into a widow’s handbag, these unassuming arms had a story — and often, a name. Their place in our firearms history is secure not for their grandeur, but for their grit.

— Yours in black powder and brass, Orme Dumas